


Bloom

by bisexuallaurel, Damaris (bisexuallaurel)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Human, Canon-typical alcohol consumtion, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24109312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexuallaurel/pseuds/bisexuallaurel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexuallaurel/pseuds/Damaris
Summary: Human!AU. Crowley owns a successful flower shop and is one day befriended by the new bookshop owner across the street. As they start to grow closer, will something other than friendship bloom between them?Featuring lots of gay yearning, bed sharing, heaps and heaps of tenderness, and Anathema Device as Crowley's scheming best friend.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens) & Anathema Device, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Anathema Device
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Anthony J. Crowley never really wanted to be a small business owner.

It had never been part of his life plan, not that he’d ever really had much of a plan to begin with. Let’s just say, as far as plans that he hadn’t really had to begin with go, it had _definitely_ not involved owning a small but weirdly successful flower shop.

And yet here he is at the tender age of 35, the quietly proud owner of a so far unnamed flower shop right in the middle of Soho, London.

It’s actually quite remarkable that it’s gone unnamed for so long, especially considering how well-loved it’s become in the short time he’s had it. Almost a year in and he’s still surprised at how people seem to be finding their way back to him even without a name.

“Perhaps it’s your charming and outgoing personality that keeps them coming back,” his reluctant friend and backseat flower shop owner Anathema jokes sometimes. She owns a small occult shop a block or so away and, what with them practically being neighbours, she’s inserted herself into his life ever since he first moved here all those many months ago.

He never dignifies her with a response when she’s in that mood where all she wants to do is hang around and either boss him around or tease him relentlessly. He’s found that ignoring her is the best way to not encourage her. Of course, she still considers herself encouraged no matter what he says or does, but at least he can rest comfortably at night knowing he didn’t actually do anything to invite such behaviour.

Secretly, he likes that she keeps sticking her nose in his business, but he’ll never tell her that. Her ego doesn’t need the boost.

It’s a day much like any other and Crowley is unlocking the front door of his shop a good 10 minutes later than he should have, if he’d been the sort of person to bother with keeping regular hours. Customers seem to find their way to him whenever he’s here, so he doesn’t bother forcing himself to get up at ungodly hours just to sit in an empty shop for an hour before anyone shows up.

As he enters the shop on this particular morning, he immediately feels that something is, well, off. There’s a tingling in his fingers as he pushes the door open and stands in the doorway for a beat, trying to decide what sparked the unease.

The answer appears in the form of Anathema Device, the absolute scoundrel, who suddenly pops out from behind the checkout counter and startles him half to death.

If someone were to ask him about the shrill noise seeming to emanate from his throat, he would've rather walked barefoot through hell than admit to being responsible for it. But alas, he was. It was quite the loud shriek, too. Very embarrassing for him.

“You fucking–” he begins, already mentally mapping out the whole speech about privacy and professional boundaries that he intends to give her, when she interrupts him with a quick and determined shake of her head.

“You won’t believe this,” she says breathlessly, rounding the checkout counter and rushing over to him. She grabs his arms and shakes him a little, much to his chagrin. “They’ve sold the place across the street!”

Crowley’s frown sinks deeper into his features. “That is _not_ an adequate reason to be violating me this early, Anathema.”

The audacity of today’s youth, he thinks to himself, mentally shaking his head. No matter that Anathema is only 5 years younger than him, because she certainly doesn’t act it.

“Aren’t you curious to see who bought that dump?” Anathema insists.

“Not really. I _am_ curious to see how long you’re planning on bothering me today, though.”

“Oh, for another hour at least,” she says, as though the curiosity was genuine.

He glares at her. She glares back.

“Fine,” he finally relents.

Leave it to Anathema Device to be the only person on God’s green earth to outmatch him in a staring contest, even with his strangely yellow tinted eyes that’s scared people away enough times that he’s taken to the habit of constantly wearing sunglasses even while indoors. He’s not wearing them now though because, well, he wasn’t expecting company, was he?

She smiles, a smile filled to the brim with glee, and then turns and hops onto the counter, her many skirts spilling over the edge and pooling around her legs.

“I wonder what this mystery person is going to do with the place,” she muses as Crowley begins to prep for opening the store, silently glaring daggers at her and hoping it’ll scare her off. It doesn’t. It never has so far but that doesn’t stop him from trying. She taps her chin in thought. “I bet it’s a gym or something.”

He somehow manages to glare even harder at her. “Don’t put that energy into the universe, you monster. I’d have to sell the place and move.”

“Or it could be a night club.”

“Here? You’re daft.”

“Or a coffee shop. Wouldn’t that be great?”

“I’d rather burn–”

He remembers his strategy and clamps his mouth shut. She just wants to get a rise out of him.

“Don’t you have a shop to run?” he asks instead, flipping the sign on the door to display the “Open” side.

“Oh, no one will be in for another 15 minutes at least,” she says gleefully, and Crowley isn’t actually sure if it’s her often strangely accurate occult senses that predicts this or if she’s just being an ass as usual.

He decides not to ask.

“I do wonder who it’ll be though,” she says after a while of silence. Finally she hops off the counter and reaches over to squish Crowley’s cheeks in a parting greeting, much to his dismay. “I just hope he doesn’t replace me as your best friend.”

“Not possible,” Crowley grimaces.

“No, of course not, you love me too much for that,” Anathema says, and then swiftly dashes out of the shop before Crowley can contradict her.

He sighs into the sudden silence.

A new owner of the place next door, huh? Despite his better judgment, Crowley finds himself curious to meet the poor soul who’ll get a front row seat to Anathema’s mood swings and far too frequent visits. Maybe she’ll take a shine to them and she’ll get off Crowley’s back now and then. That could be nice.

Probably best not to get his hopes up, though, he thinks as his first customer of the day walks through the door and immediately recoils at the sight of Crowley’s unshielded eyes. If Crowley’s track record is anything to go by, he’ll have them run out of the place in no time.

He grabs his sunglasses from where he’s hung them over the dip in his v-neck and slides them onto his nose before approaching his customer. “How can I help you today?”

. . .

It’s another two weeks until the new owner of the property across the street shows up.

They, meaning Crowley and Anathema who has been around even more than usual since the news about the newcomer broke, have seen glimpses of the new owner over the last week or so as he’s been busy moving into the new place. 

Neither of them have gotten a good look at him yet, always seeing him at too far a distance or partly secluded by moving trucks to get any details on his appearance and vibe.

One day, Crowley is busy ringing up a customer when the bell above the door chimes.

“I’ll be right with you,” Crowley calls without looking up from the till. He finishes with the customer, a grey-haired and sulky man in his 60s that wanted to buy the cheapest flowers possible for his wife, and gives him a twisted smile as he sends him on his way. The man smiles back uncertainly and Crowley is struck by the unflappable certainty that this will be the last time this man is buying such cheap flowers for his wife and that he will soon learn to treasure her the way she deserves to be treasured.

As the man leaves, another man comes up to the counter.

The first thing Crowley notices is the man’s eyes; soft blue, almost silver, like the moon sitting high in the sky on a cloudless day. They’re surrounded by the beginnings of laugh lines that make him look approachable and kind. His face is framed by lush blonde curls that look almost white as they curl away from his forehead.

When Crowley’s eyes eventually drift downwards, he’s struck by how ridiculously the man is dressed.

It’s the 21st century and he’s wearing all tan and beige; sensible tan trousers, a simple cream button-down tucked in underneath a tan waistcoat that looks like it probably saw its heyday more than a century ago, and a matching bowtie. He’s holding himself quite stiffly, his hands clutched and resting atop his stomach.

Crowley only barely holds back a teeth-baring smile when the man puts out his hand to introduce himself.

“Good day, my name is Aziraphale,” the man says, firmly shaking Crowley’s hand for a few seconds before releasing him. “I’m the new owner of the establishment across the street.”

“Pleasure,” Crowley says with a simple nod, mimicking the man’s professional tone. “I’m Crowley, the owner of this, uh, establishment.” He gives a lazy wave to his surroundings.

“Lovely little place you got here,” the man, Aziraphale, says politely as he casts his gaze around the room.

“Why thank you,” Crowley says, for some reason finding himself getting carried away with the strangely outdated mannerisms of the man. “Only had it a year so far but it’s coming along nicely, I’d say.”

The man turns back to him, mouth open slightly, a little crack in his facade. “Oh dear, is that so? You really couldn’t tell, it truly does look marvellous. Absolutely splendid.” He smiles, big and wide. The crack deepens.

Crowley frowns a little at the sudden change in the man. It’s as though all the tension melts out of him in one go and Crowley doesn’t know what caused it.

“It’s nice to know I’m not the only new business in the area,” he says. “I must admit it was beginning to worry me. You see, I’ve never owned a business before and I–”

Aziraphale, Crowley quickly realizes, likes to chat. He’s one of those... chatty people.

Crowley is, well, _not_.

He finds himself growing increasingly annoyed that this random man who he doesn’t even know is encroaching on his time like this with no apparent remorse or consideration for Crowley’s opinion on the matter.

He’s got half a mind to tell him flat out that he needs to leave already so Crowley can go back to running his business when something he’s said catches Crowley off guard.

“Excuse me, what did you just say?”

Aziraphale pauses in his ramblings and looks up at him, eyebrows raised. “Sorry? Oh, nothing, I just–”

“Did you just say you gave away the keys to your car?” Crowley asks incredulously.

Aziraphale looks like he’s considering lying for a second and then he throws his hands in the air with a miserable wail. “I didn’t _mean_ to!”

Crowley’s eyes almost bug out of his head. “Didn’t _mean to_?”

“This poor woman at the supermarket didn’t have the money to pay for all her groceries, see, and I just felt so terrible for her but I didn’t have my check book with me, so what was I supposed to do?”

“So you paid with your _car_?”

“I told the nice girl in the till, I said to her, ‘listen, take my car and we’ll call it even, alright?’. She was quick to take the offer, mind, but–”

“Of course she was, you gave her a bloody car in exchange for, what, some cheese and bread?”

“Well, that poor woman did have quite an armful of groceries,” Aziraphale fusses. “Had a lovely little girl with her too that needed all sorts of things.”

“A _car’s worth_ of things?”

“Well I can afford it,” Aziraphale says desperately, thumbs twiddling nervously. “Family money and so on. It wasn’t a very nice car anyway, got it on quite a good deal if I say so myself, and I quite enjoy walking.”

Crowley can’t contain the laughter that escapes him. It’s louder and less guarded than he usually allows himself to be. It surprises them both, although perhaps Aziraphale most of all.

A small smile plays on his lips, despite the embarrassment of having accidentally let slip this embarrassing detail. “Well, what’s done is done,” he says, and shrugs. “That poor woman got her things for her family and the girl at the till has a decent car to get her to work. Could be a lot worse, really.”

That’s an extremely peculiar way of looking at losing your mode of transportation, Crowley thinks but keeps himself from saying out loud. Instead he says, to his own surprise, “Well, I can give you a ride if you need to get some groceries for yourself. I live just a few minutes away.”

“Oh that’s awfully kind of you,” Aziraphale says with a warm smile. “Very kind indeed and I’m sure I’ll take you up on the offer some day.”

They just stand there for a second, looking at each other as Aziraphale holds that big bright smile of his and Crowley fights against his own impulse to smile back.

Finally Aziraphale breaks the eye contact, thankfully, and Crowley forces himself into action.

“Well, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around then. Aziraphale, was it?”

“Oh yes, yes I’m sure you will. Yes, that’s right.”

“Unique,” is all Crowley allows himself to say.

“I suppose,” Aziraphale says sheepishly. He lingers for another second, just staring at Crowley, and just before Crowley has started to squirm under his gaze, he looks away and starts for the door with a small smile. “Well, I’ll see you around then, Crowley.”

Crowley gives him a nod in return and watches him leave the shop.

If he spends the rest of the day a bit distracted by the way his name rolled off the stranger’s tongue, well, no one is the wiser and he would never admit to it, not even under Anathema’s steely gaze.


	2. Chapter 2

Anathema does, in fact, manage to drag it out of him, much to his annoyance. He’d tried all the tricks in the book to get rid of her but she was like a leech, refusing to leave his side until she got her fill.

“Alright!” he’d finally exclaimed, scaring off the last customer of the day in the process. “The new owner is a handsome man around my age. Dresses like an overgrown child going to church and talks too much.” He pauses deliberately and stares at her over the rim of his sunglasses. “Much like someone else I know.”

“He’s handsome, huh?” she’d said, a knowing grin spreading across her features like wildfire.

Crowley’s face contorted. “I never said that.”

“You did though. You said he’s handsome. What’s he look like then? C’mon, don’t be stingy with the details. You clearly like him, so tell me.”

Of course he’d promptly thrown her out and locked the door behind her, only leaving the shop himself another 30 minutes later once he was positive she’d given up and gone home.

He hated that she could read him so well, especially since he still maintained the official position that they were not friends, but unfortunately she was absolutely right on this account.

Something about this Aziraphale fellow had struck a cord in him when he least expected it. It was like a switch had been flicked and where he at first had just wanted to get rid of the man so he could stand in his shop in silence and just bask in the breeze of his plants shuddering around him in fear, he now found himself wondering when he’d get to see Aziraphale next. 

Should he orchestrate another meeting, possibly by stealing the man’s mail and pretending it got sent to the wrong address, or should he just go over there and try to strike up a conversation the old-fashioned way?

He _should_ probably just forget about it and squash down this growing desire to get to know this mystery man more. He should do that. He really should.

But when Aziraphale comes over a few days later asking if he could possibly cash in that offered ride to the shops, well, so what if Crowley indulges him? He _did_ offer, after all, and he prides himself on being good on his word.

Well, at least when handsome strangers are involved.

. . .

He picks up Aziraphale outside of his shop. Pulling up to the curb, he can see the man bustling about inside so he blasts the horn once, twice and then smiles behind his glasses as Aziraphale comes hurrying out a few seconds later.

“Oh I didn’t see you there,” he says as he pulls the passenger seat door open and awkwardly hops in and straps himself in. “Have you been waiting long? I got so terribly caught up in my books, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Crowley says uncharacteristically. 

Once, Anathema asked him for this very favour and when she didn’t turn up on time, he made her wait another hour out of spite before he’d do her the honour of driving her.

Not this time though. No, this time he’s curious to see how things will go and he doesn’t want to risk scaring Aziraphale away by being, well, too himself.

“Ready?” he asks as he starts the engine back up. The Bentley, the apple of his eye and love of his life, comes to life with a purr at his touch.

“Lovely car you have here,” Aziraphale says as an attempt at small talk. The attempt is torn from his lungs along with his breath as Crowley pulls away from the curb in one swift jerk and then speeds off down the street.

“Is that, ah, not a bit too fast?” Aziraphale asks timidly, grappling desperately for the handle above the door and clinging to it like a last lifeline once he finds it.

“Nah,” Crowley says easily, only barely swallowing down a grin when he sees Aziraphale’s stricken face. “I’m a good driver, nothing to worry about.”

“Oh, well, I-“

Crowley makes a sharp turn that almost sends Aziraphale tumbling into him, an indignant screech escaping him as he tries desperately to stay upright. 

Crowley does grin, then.

What a peculiar person Aziraphale is, he thinks, who speaks and dresses as if born in a time long since past and who can’t handle a bit of fast driving.

That other people also find his driving "reckless and most likely fucking illegal" (Anathema's words) is entirely besides the point.

Sooner than should be possible, the Bentley screeches to a halt outside of the shops.

Aziraphale looks almost grey in the face, his breathing laboured as he does his best to gather himself back together.

Crowley throws his arm casually over the steering wheel and grins at the man, more glee in his gaze than is entirely appropriate as Aziraphale clutches his heaving chest. “Ready to go?”

Aziraphale opens his mouth to say something but then he meets Crowley’s gaze and his mouth stretches into a pressed line instead, which makes Crowley grin harder.

“In a second,” Aziraphale says with as much dignity as he can muster under the circumstances.

“Take your time,” Crowley says, words drenched in mock sweetness, but he finds that he actually rather means them. Usually such a restless creature, he finds he doesn’t actually mind sitting here with Aziraphale, just breathing in the same space together as Aziraphale convinces his nervous system that he is not actually in any mortal danger.

Finally Aziraphale exhales and shakes himself. A smile is back on his face as he chirps, “Alright, let’s go.”

Somehow Crowley gets put in charge of begrudgingly pushing the trolley after Aziraphale who darts around the shop like an excitable child.

Crowley makes sure to put on a show of being annoyed and bored, but he actually has a decent enough time just trailing after this weird man child as he tries to do his shopping while also stopping to chat with everyone who even glances in his direction.

Crowley doesn’t even say hi to anyone else and instead opts for just lurking about waiting for Aziraphale to be done already, clearing his throat now and then to get Aziraphale moving again. He gets quite good at it.

”Oh do excuse me, my friend is getting a bit antsy so I'm afraid I must get back to him, but do try this tea, it's really excellent,” Crowley can hear him tell the little old lady he’s currently chatting up. 

Crowley rolls his eyes and is just considering sulking off and leaving Aziraphale to his boring conversation when Aziraphale manages to shake the old lady off long enough to get back to him.

”Sorry about that,” he says with a smile. ”She needed some help with-”

”Yes, yes,” Crowley says impatiently. He waves the little handwritten shopping list Aziraphale has put in his charge. ”Can we get back to this now?”

”Of course, dear,” Aziraphale says and if he notices the way Crowley tenses up at the term of endearment, he doesn’t say anything, and instead glances at the list and triumphantly exclaims, ”Ah! We need biscuits.”

”Lead the way,” Crowley says with an exaggerated bow as he pushes the shopping trolley along behind Aziraphale.

. . .

Once they’ve crossed everything off their list, gone through checkout and made it back to the car, Crowley realizes he never asked where Aziraphale lives.

”Am I taking you back to the shop or do you need a ride to your flat?” he asks as he pulls out of the parking space. He can feel Aziraphale’s tension from the passenger seat and decides to take some mercy on him and not drive quite as fast on the way back.

Aziraphale seems to notice the change in speed and smiles gratefully before he remembers the question and says, ”The shop is attached to my new flat, actually.”

”Oh,” is all Crowley says. So they’ll be neighbours in more ways than one, then. ”Well that’s handy.”

”Very,” Aziraphale agrees. His grip on the handle above the window isn’t quite as white-knuckled as before but he’s still bracing himself for a sudden burst of speed.

It’s good, Crowley thinks, to keep him on his toes.

Aziraphale chats away as usual as they make their way back across London to their street. 

Crowley is surprised to find that Aziraphale’s company makes the painstakingly slow drive bearable. (Which is not very slow at all, of course, since Crowley is the driver.)

The man talks… a lot, and with a nervous air about him, but he has interesting insights and a good sense of humour that matches up well with Crowley’s own, and before Crowley knows it, he’s pulling up to the curb outside of the bookshop.

Aziraphale gets out to collect his bags of groceries from the backseat of the car. Crowley watches him in the rearview mirror until he’s sure he can manage it on his own and then he turns back to the road, fingers tapping at intermittent speeds against the steering wheel.

Suddenly Aziraphale sticks his head back in through the window, his grocery bags clutched awkwardly to his chest.

“Would you, er, like to come in?” he asks.

Crowley blinks at him. “Would I like to come in?”

“For a cup of tea,” Aziraphale says, with as good of a shrug as he can manage with his arms full. “Or a drink. I’ve got a decent selection of whiskey in the back of my shop.”

For a moment Crowley considers the offer. He hasn’t seen the inside of the bookshop yet and he has to admit he’s been curious to see what kind of business this peculiar man is running.

But then he meets Aziraphale’s gaze and something inside of Crowley shifts. It’s subtle, barely noticeable, but it’s enough to make his heart beat just a little bit quicker.

The answer has left his lips before he can give it a second thought.

“Ah, wish I could, but I have a prior engagement,” he says and is genuinely surprised at how casual his voice comes out when it rather feels like his throat is starting to close up. Aziraphale looks disappointed as he immediately breaks eye contact and leans out of the car. 

Crowley’s heart chases after him even as his body remains frozen. “Impossible to cancel, sorry. Er, raincheck?”

That seems to perk Aziraphale up. He smiles and his eyes light up with it. It’s unfairly endearing.

“Well, best be off,” Crowley says abruptly, slapping the dashboard of the Bentley to accentuate the matter. The Bentley hums disapprovingly as Crowley starts the engine.

“Oh of course,” Aziraphale says and steps onto the curb safely out of the Bentley’s way. “Thank you for the ride.” He pauses and smiles again, almost a bit shyly, “And for the company, of course.”

“Best not to say thank you,” Crowley mutters, not even sure if Aziraphale can hear him. He tosses a quick wave in Aziraphale's general direction and then speeds off without another word.

. . .

Where does he get off, inviting Crowley in for a drink when they haven’t even known each other a full week? Doesn’t he know what that sounds like?

It’s hard to tell with Aziraphale.

And would Crowley even be interested in… that, if that was indeed what Aziraphale had been offering?

Sounds complicated, he thinks. He decided to take a slightly longer route to give himself more time to think. In his car is where he feels most at home, after all.

Because Crowley doesn’t do complicated. He keeps his shop, keeps a watchful eye on his plants, goes on long solitary drives with his Bentley and possibly spends some time with friends when he can manage it. Usually that means getting pissed with Anathema and her friends.

Sometimes he’ll date around casually for a while until that too gets boring and he goes back to basics for a while.

Rinse and repeat.

Aziraphale seems… different. He doesn’t seem to be the kind to do casual, or one night stands, and that is almost exclusively what Crowley deals in.

Of course, there’s no reason that Aziraphale couldn’t be his new fling that he indulges in for a couple of weeks and then throws to the side as soon as he gets bored.

Only issue is the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he is already far too keen on seeing Aziraphale again. That rarely happens to him, even when he’s been involved with some very, _very_ attractive people.

No one is more surprised than Crowley to realize that he is genuinely enjoying being around Aziraphale and even more so that he feels this way already, after just two interactions with the man. They’re practically strangers, but he already feels more comfortable with him than with some of his older friends.

It usually takes a long time for him to warm up to people, cold-blooded creature that he is.

Sometimes Anathema jokes that he’s really a snake trapped in a human body and as much as he protests those jokes when she dares say them to his face, he privately feels like she isn’t too far off.

Hell, even Anathema, who is objectively speaking his best friend and who he, albeit reluctantly, clicked with quite fast, has always been held at an arm's length for safety.

Commitment is dangerous and scary, so he avoids it at all costs, with only few exceptions. Cars are a lot safer to invest your emotions in than humans.

But somehow Aziraphale intrigues him in a way few people do.

Part of Crowley thinks he should back away now before things get complicated. Before he gets… attached.

The other part of him wants to see where this will go.


End file.
